"My dear Miss Metoaca," began Mrs. Arnold pompously, but the look in the spinster's red eyes went straight to her heart, and she threw her arms impulsively about her in a warm embrace without completing her sentence.
"It is good of you to come," said Miss Metoaca, touched by Mrs. Arnold's greeting. "I—I—was feeling very downhearted."
"And no wonder," purred Mrs. Bennett, wiping her eyes with a dainty handkerchief. "You have borne a great deal, Miss Metoaca, and have our deepest sympathy."
"You crocodile," thought the spinster, as she said aloud: "It is cruel, cruel! Nancy never committed that crime, never."
Mrs. Arnold and her friend exchanged doubtful glances.
"Have you been allowed to see your niece?" inquired the latter, as Mrs. Arnold seemed at a loss for words.
"No; and I am convinced the food and clothes I send her never get past the inspector's office."
"Have you appealed to the President?"
"Have I?" Miss Metoaca's tone was eloquent. "I have tormented that poor man nearly to death."
"Did he give you no comfort?" asked Mrs. Arnold. "Usually President Lincoln is only too anxious to sign pardons."